Becoming Us
by Brownie94
Summary: Xover with CSI: Miami. Greg Sanders and Ryan Wolfe both find out truths that change their lives as they know them. Follow them as they find the answers to their questions, which bring them together, and try to find their true identities;find their family.


Disclaimer: I got rich and bought half the rights to CSI, so I do own it. October Fools' Day!! (_I totally got you!!) _

**Info: **This will be a crossover with CSI: Miami; one that's heavy with Ryan and Greg and has them as brothers, cuz I love them. Don't know who their parents are yet. So, tell me your thoughts. Ryan is 20, Greg is 22, Speed and Nick are 28.

Hi, guys!! So my first CSI fic! What do you guys think? Anywho, hope you like the chapter, Love, Brownie  Please R&R.

**Becoming Us**

Chapter 1: Doesn't Change Anything

Greg Sanders kicked off his red Chuck Taylor's, letting them fall haphazardly onto the carpeted floor of his apartment, and tiredly sprawled across his worn, but comfy couch. Letting his head drop back onto the armrest, he propped his sock-clad feet up on the one on the opposite end, causing his blue jeans ride up and reveal a strip of tan skin.

Sighing, he reached out for his ottoman with his left hand, and, after grabbing the DVR remote, switched his flat-screen TV on. He, then, flipped the channel until he found something interesting, namely TV Guide's _Michael Jackson: His Final Days._ Placing the remote where he'd found it, Greg curled up so that he was facing the TV, his usually vibrant eyes, which were red-rimmed and a dimed shade of brown, watching as Michael Jackson rehearsed for his _Comeback Tour_, and successfully pushed the events of the last hour to the back of his mind. Thirty minutes later, as "Man in the Mirror" played in the background like a lullaby, his eyes slipped shut and he drifted off into an uneasy sleep.

**************************************************************

_Dream Sequence_

"No, it's not true," Greg argued vehemently, his eyes imploring his mother, Gwen Sanders, to back him up, "Mom, please, tell me this is just a bad joke."

Worrying the fabric of the afghan that was covering her, the petite woman scooted closer to his only son and, framing his handsome face with her hands, affirmed, "I wish I could, Baby, I wish I could. But you needed to know."

Wrenching his face from her grasp, Greg moved his watery stare to his father, "But why now? Why are you telling me this? Why do I, all of a sudden, need to know this?"

"Because, Greggo, you have the right to know, and, now that you're twenty-two, we thought you could handle it," explained Peter Sanders, as he moved so that he was flanking Greg's other side, and, after placing his hand on Greg's shoulder, an act that made Greg tense up, continued, "This doesn't change anything, Buddy. We're still your parents and you're still our son."

"Exactly, Honey," added Gwen, "We're still the people who changed your diapers, watched you take your first steps, and whose room you slept in after you had a nightmare; the only thing that's changed is that we're not related by blood, and I think we taught you better than to think family ends with blood."

Ignoring the hand that was on his shoulder with great difficulty and pretending that his mo…Gwen hadn't said anything, Greg queried, "Do you know who my real parents are?"

An uncomfortable silence enveloped the room, before his da…Peter answered, "No, they didn't leave any information behind, but I'm su…"

"So, they didn't want me," mumbled Greg, cutting Peter off and jumping off the couch in his parents' hotel room, when the truth of his statement sunk in. With his back to the people who'd raised him to be who he was, Greg rambled, "Um, I gotta go. I have work tomorrow," and, then practically ran out of the room, ignoring Peter and Gwen's calls for him to come back. He decided to forego the elevator and ran down eight flights of stair to the parking lot. He ran through the rain and to his Denali, soaking himself in the process, then revved the engine and high-tailed it out of there.

The drive to his apartment complex was a total blur to Greg, all he remembered was feeling numb and lost, and, as he pulled into his parking spot, he thanked his luck stars that he hadn't killed anyone. Turning the key, so that the engine was off, Greg dropped his head onto the steering wheel and wondered, _Why me? Why didn't they want me?_

He was pulled out of his thoughts by Marilyn Manson, "Babble, babble, bitch, bitch. Rebel, rebel, party, party. Sex, sex, sex, and don't forget the violence…"

**************************************************************

Greg woke with a jerk and rubbed his neck when it started throbbing, _Yeah, that's what you get for being an idiot and sleeping on the co…_, "Achoo!" he sneezed, forgetting what he'd just been thinking and remembering that he hadn't bothered to change out of his soaked blue jeans and "Rage Against the Machine" t-shirt before he fell asleep yesterday.

He moaned The hammers that were pounding on his head started pounding harder when his phone kept playing, "Blah, blah, blah, got your lovey-dovey, sad and lonely, stick your stupid slogan in; everybody s…" and Greg turned it off, apologizing, "Sorry, Marilyn Manson, but my head really hur…Achoo!"

He slowly turned and, then, pushed himself onto his feet. Once upright, he rubbed his eyes, walked toward the kitchen, and made a beeline for the coffeemaker. Filling said appliance with water, he reached above the counter, opened the cabinet, and felt around until he found what he was looking for. "Aha," he yelled in victory as he pulled down the packet of Blue Hawaiian and carefully poured the usual amount into a coffee filter. He checked the time and saw that he had to get ready in thirty minutes or he'd be late.

_I'd better get a quick shower, _thought Greg as he quickly picked out a pair of blue jeans that were so-dark-that-they-looked-black and a full-sleeved brown tee that had a thin strip of orange on both sleeves. Carrying his outfit for the day along with a clean pair of Radiohead boxers, he entered his bathroom and, after hanging his clothes up on a hook, took a quick shower. Fifteen minutes later, a dressed Greg with hair that was dripping wet and, therefore, tamed, until it dried anyway, walked into the kitchen following the heavenly scent of the drink of champions: coffee.

Pouring himself a cup, Greg sipped it, sighing in enjoyment, then opened the fridge to get the platter of cheese danish that his elderly neighbor, Ms. Jennifer, had made him because "he was _too_ thin." Placing it on his dining table along with the pot of coffee, Greg enjoyed his makeshift breakfast, managing to drink three cups of coffee, and then headed to his car after pouring himself another cup for the road.

As he buckled up, Greg remembered the events of yesterday with clarity, but ignored them and, with the thought of, _I have work right now, I'll deal with this later_,' left for the lab. Unbeknownst to Greg, another CSI in Miami, Florida, one that looked eerily like him and was two years younger, was thinking something along the same lines.

**************************************************************

_Miami, Florida_

_I'm having dinner with the team right now, I'll deal with it later, _thought Ryan Wolfe, as he tried to push the thoughts that had been nagging him for two days to the back of his mind to think about on a rainy day, unsuccessfully, I might add. Apparently, Horatio caught on to the fact that something was troubling him because he asked, "Mr. Wolfe, is something bothering you?" _Yeah, _Ryan wanted to say so bad, _starting with the fact that my name is __**not **__Mr. Wolfe, its __**Ryan**__ and ending with the fact that I spent my whole life in foster homes, alone, got out two years ago, and __**now**__ they tell me that I have a big brother._

Pushing down the urge to say just that, Ryan politely answered, "It's nothing, Sir." If the waiter hadn't come around right then, asking Ryan, "Do you want a refill?" and causing him to turn toward her, Ryan would have seen the twin looks of suspicion that passed between Horatio, Speed, and Alexx and known that they suspected that something was up. But, since the waiter did arrive, Ryan got his refill of coke and enjoyed the rest of the dinner, but was clueless and would be caught completely off-guard when he was faced with their individual attempts to get him to open up,

…TBC…

(If you want me to)

So what do you guys think? Should I trash it or continue?

Reviews and Constructive Criticism are always appreciated.


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